


Near to You

by MG12CSI16



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Five And One, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, mostly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2241834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MG12CSI16/pseuds/MG12CSI16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Emma wakes up next to Killian and one time she does something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Near to You

**Author's Note:**

> I’m only four episodes into season 3 so I honestly have no idea what happens aside from the Snowing baby which means all of this is made up and AU because I completely screwed the timeline. Just a warning before you proceed.

The first time it happens is just after they’ve come back from the enchanted forest, Henry’s exhausted and limp body looking incredibly small in Killian’s arms as they suddenly find themselves standing in the middle of the rain slicked street of Storybrooke. Before the portal had opened once more Emma had been adamant that she carry her son herself but the pirate had merely shaken his head, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes and the way her hands shook before picking up the boy without another word.

She hadn’t even argued.

They’re ambushed by a sea of familiar faces not long after they return, Snow and David rushing forward and their hands are pulling Emma in close, wrapping her in an embrace that feels so warm and _right_ that she nearly forgets her son who’s still in Killian’s arms. David takes over instantly once he pulls his attention away from Emma, gently gathering his grandson in his arms, barely managing a thankful smile he directs at the pirate who just nods gently before backing away and allowing the women to follow David towards the loft.

Emma doesn’t even look back.

It’s barely an hour later when Henry is tucked safely into bed and Snow and David have left for the night after soft kisses are pressed to Emma’s forehead and she fights the smile tugging at her lips at the feeling of normalcy that surges through her.

Just before they leave Snow whispers something that sounds like, “get some sleep Emma,” from across the room and despite the fact that Emma knows it’s unlikely she nods her head in an attempt to ease her mother’s mind just before the front door shuts softly.

Despite the fact the exhaustion is seeping into her bones quicker than she thought possible, Emma finds sleep is continuing to elude her and she stands from the chair beside Henry’s bed where she’s been residing to move towards the kitchen in search of caffeine.

She’s halfway through her second cup of tea, settled back in the chair with a quilt over her lap, when she hears the front door opening and her head whips around so quickly she has to shut her eyes against the rush of dizziness that assaults her. There’s a sort of soft huffing sound as Killian laughs, managing to stifle it behind his hand so he doesn’t wake the sleeping boy in the bed in front of him and have to deal with the consequential wrath of his mother.

Emma’s not sure why but the sight of Killian instills a feeling of comfort deep inside of her, starting in her chest before blossoming and stretching all the way to the tips of her fingers when he takes a chair from beside the kitchen table and sets it down quietly beside hers. 

“How is he?” Killian asks, settling into the uncomfortable wooden chair as best he can.

Emma looks up from her son just long enough to meet his eye before the faintest hint of a blush begins to creep onto her face and she turns away just as quick.

“He’s fine,” she finally says, her throat scratchy and her voice tired. “He just needs to sleep.”

“And so do you,” he retorts, the words sharper than he intends because he knows the strength of a mother’s love and until Emma is absolutely certain her son is alright Killian knows she won’t sleep at all.

And apparently Emma knows it too, because she shakes her head at him firmly, not even lifting her eyes from Henry’s sleeping form and listens to Killian let out a long suffering sigh before he leans back in the chair, closes his eyes and softly says,

“Suit yourself sweetheart,” before the soft sound of his snoring fills the room just moments.

XXX

The morning light barely manages to seep through the curtains the next morning when Emma blinks her eyes open, vision blurred with the remnants of sleep as she runs a hand through her tangled blond hair. She can vaguely make out Henry’s still sleeping form when she glances over at the bed, curled up on his side with the blankets pulled up around his shoulders.

There’s a crick in her neck where she fell asleep in the chair and she presses her fingers against the spot in an attempt to offer herself some comfort. It does little to help and she lets out a disgruntled huff as she sits up, turns to her right and stops dead when she sees Killian still dozing soundly in the chair beside hers just as he was last night.

Emma’s not sure why but the sight of him, head tipped back with one arm draped over his chest and the other hanging limply by his side, ignites this tiny flame deep in the pit of her stomach, unleashing a torrent of emotion she wasn’t aware she held within her. She was expecting him to be gone when she woke, to have found a more productive way to spend his time other than joining a mother who was keeping an unnecessary vigil by her son’s bedside. But here he is, soft snores filling the silent void in the room as Emma continues to stare, unbelieving and still very much exhausted.

She nearly reaches out to wake him, tell him it’s well past dawn now and he should probably head down to Granny’s and see about sleeping in a real bed, rather than one of Snow’s old kitchen chairs that probably aren’t doing any favors for his back, but in the end she ends up with her hand plastered firmly to her side as she stands and shuffles as quickly as possible towards the shower.

By the time she returns, Killian’s already gone.

_**II.** _

Emma finds that she isn’t as fond of the quiet as she used to be, or at least right up until Henry had come into her life.

After spending more than a year with the son she had all but pushed from her mind she finds prolonged silence is actually a substantial indicator that she’s once again alone and the thought is nearly enough to drive her to insanity. Because, when Henry’s around, there’s always a constant stream of chatter to follow her around or a series of laughter that seems to be contagious (sometimes there’s even an occasional round of off key singing when Emma is in a particularly good mood).

But tonight it’s quiet, too quiet even and Emma is nearly regretting her decision to let Henry stay the night with her parents for one last sleep over until the baby’s born. She’s sitting cross legged on her couch, half-drunk glass of milk and an untouched plate of Granny’s cookies sitting on the table in front of her.

For some reason, she doesn’t have the stomach for them tonight.   

She’s thinking of going to bed early, or maybe soaking in a hot bath when there’s a shard knock at her door and her eyes nearly roll in annoyance because whoever it is, she doesn’t have the patience for them tonight.

For a moment she considers not answering it, curling up on the couch beneath a mound of blankets and waiting for the visitor to leave, but then her mind starts spinning and feeding her possible scenarios and in the end she finds herself padding across the living room in socked feet before she carefully opens the door just enough to peek out into the hall.

What she sees is anything but impressive.

Killian is standing—more like swaying—in the doorway, lips curled into a devilish smile as he lurches forward and barely manages to latch onto the doorframe in an attempt to keep himself upright. Emma’s nose wrinkles when the smell of cheap booze assaults her senses, and she sends the pirate a glare that goes practically unnoticed.

“You’re trashed,” she tells him, arms folding across her chest and Killian almost looks insulted by her words as his face morphs into a pout.

“I am not,” he argues, but the words are sloppy and slurred as if his tongue is tied in knots and Emma nearly laughs.

“Oh yes you are. Look at yourself, you can barely stand up straight.” She wrinkles her nose again. “And you smell terrible.”

“I’m hurt love, really I am,” Killian says, suddenly pushing on the door and stumbling into the apartment and Emma surprises herself when she makes no attempt to stop him, simply stands back with an amused grin and watches him collapse onto her couch.

She shakes her head, not sure if she’s amused or simply too tired to care, and finally shuts the door behind her before moving back to the living room with Killian, who’s glancing around the room with eyes wide and glazed.

It’s painfully clear he’s too drunk to walk back to Granny’s, despite the close proximity Emma wouldn’t put it past him to accidentally get run over again or cause some sort of riot if she let him back outside, and it’s with a loud sigh and small shake of her head that she looks at him and says,

“You better stay here tonight. I’ll get you some more blankets and you can sleep on the couch.”

While she’s not entirely sure he’s heard her Killian does manage to give her a smile, but it’s too blissfully happy, powered by the alcohol, and Emma knows he probably didn’t comprehend much of what she said.

Still, she gathers the extra blankets and even pulls a pillow off her bed, sets them on the table next to the cookies that are slowly dwindling in numbers (and if the crumbs still clinging to Killian’s scruff mean anything, Emma has a pretty good idea where they’ve gone) before she stands back with her hands on her hips.

“So,” she says, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, “I’ll see you in the morning I guess. If you need the bathroom you know where it is.”

Before Killian can even construct an answer Emma scurries to the safety of her bed, throwing herself under the covers and burying her face in the pillow to muffle a rather loud groan because Killian is drunk and he’s sleeping on her couch and the thought of that alone shouldn’t mean _anything_ and yet, she finds her stomach continues to twist itself into a series of knots she can’t for the life of her seem to unravel.

XXX

She feels the mattress dip down beside her and her eyes fly open almost instantly, green and blinking and they flick to the right just in time to see Killian make himself comfortable as he curls onto his side and lets out a yawn.

At first, Emma simply stares, trying to work out exactly what’s happening right now but her mind is still muddled with sleep as she props herself up on one elbow and continues to stare.

“Killian,” she finally hisses, her voice a loud whisper, “what the hell are you doing?”

The man beside her stirs slightly and uncurls, cracks an eye open and glances up at Emma and says, “You may want to invest in a new couch. The one you have now is rubbish,” before he buries his face back into the pillow he’s currently occupying while Emma can only manage an annoyed scoff.

“Well I’m sorry my furniture doesn’t live up to your standards _Captain_ but I’m going to have to ask you to get the hell out of my bed.”

Killian doesn’t even bother to look at her when he says, “I don’t think so princess,” and Emma feels her face heat up almost instantly.

“No? You know I didn’t have to let you stay here, I could have sent your right back outside and you could be sleeping in an alley tonight.”

“And I’m eternally grateful,” Killian mutters, “but I don’t see the harm in sleeping here. If it’s roaming hands you’re worried about I can assure you I’ll be nothing but a gentleman.”

Emma knows she could argue, she knows she could threaten him with her gun or simply give him a sharp kick and send him sprawling to the floor, but there’s something about the way Killian’s face relaxes as he drifts back into unconsciousness. And maybe it’s because it’s nearly three in the morning and she’s exhausted and stressed but she finds she doesn’t have it in her to argue anymore and she simply sighs, turning her back to him and curling around her pillow as she lets the even sound of Killian’s breathing lull her back to sleep.

And when the sun filters through the blinds once more, Emma gets up and dresses for work, making sure to leave a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table before she goes.

**_III._ **

“I don’t know how the hell you managed this but it’s possibly the stupidest thing you’ve done yet.”

“Me? Sweetheart, I think you may want to rethink that. If you hadn’t-“

“Are you really trying to tell me this is my fault?”

“Yes, I am. You are the one who left the key on the desk after all.”

Emma lets out a frustrated growl as she lets her head fall against the bars of the cell with a barely there thud, the sound of Killian’s erratic pacing sending prickles of agitation up her spine.

“Would you sit down?” she snaps, tearing her gaze from her cellphone sitting on her desk to the pirate who is currently trying to wear a hole in the floor behind her.

Killian locks eyes with her momentarily, sees the anger that’s now being directed at herself instead of him, and plops down on the bench with a sigh. 

“It’s not entirely your fault,” he finally says, because Emma’s gone from looking flat out pissed to just plain upset and Killian can’t help but think it’s partly his fault.

But the blonde just snorts at him, shaking her head before finally pushing herself away from the cell door to join him on the bench.

How they truly ended up locked in the town’s only cell was actually beyond him. The only thing he knows for sure is that Emma had been complaining about it being broken and Killian, being the knight in shining armor (er, leather) that he is, decided he was going to be the one to fix it (which he had). But when the time came to show off just how handy he could sometimes be things had taken a wrong turn and they found themselves staring at each other in horror just after the telltale sound of the door latching shut echoed through the office. 

Now that he thinks about it, it probably wasn’t one of his better ideas.

Not that he’s going to admit this out loud. He wouldn’t put it past Emma to strangle him in a fit of anger.

So instead he looks away from her, admiring a spot on the wall in front of them as Emma drops her head in her hands and the slender fingers tangle themselves in her blond curls. Neither of them speak for a moment, too busy searching their minds for a way out of this but Killian knows it’s no use because both the key and Emma’s cellphone are in her desk and David isn’t coming in until the morning.

Simply put, they’re screwed.

XXX

“Emma?”

She thinks she hears her father’s voice attempting to wedge itself into her dream, warm and familiar but tinged with a concern that makes her want to call out to him and assure him she’s safe.

“ _Emma.”_

He calls again, louder, sharper, and this time Emma’s eyes actually open and she’s trying to twist herself around to see him but finds her vision is blocked by black leather and Killian’s chest.

She sucks in a startled breath.

He’s warm and smells of rum and something strangely comforting. Something that overtime had worked its way under Emma’s skin until she could identify the man by nothing but his scent. The thought alone is enough to make Emma’s breath hitch, lodged in her throat until she finally has to look away and count to ten in order to calm herself down.

When the oxygen is circulating her body once more she finally looks up, sees David standing there with his jaw somewhat slack, arms crossed and eyes wide. Emma blushes, feeling like the naughty teenager who just got caught kissing her boyfriend even though she is definitely _not_ a teenager and Killian certainly _isn’t_ her boyfriend.

And there was no kissing. None at all.

At least not this time.

Still, these facts seem to do little when it comes to deterring David and his imagination because right now it looks as if he can’t decide whether to be pissed or to laugh and for Emma it only makes the situation worse. She’s an adult, fully capable of taking care of herself, and she doesn’t need anyone (especially her dad) to help her along.

So instead of arguing or attempting to explain her way out of the situation when David is finally able to unfreeze and open the cell door, Emma does what she does best.

She runs.

**_IV._ **

The cell is damp and smells of mold, accompanied by the stale odor of blood and sweat as Emma wearily blinks her eyes open against the throbbing in her skull and attempts to look around. Her heart is beating erratically in her chest; an aching thump against her ribs as she pushes herself into a sitting position, briefly closes her eyes against the rush of dizziness that assaults her.

Her memory is blurred though she still remembers enough to know that when she was caught, Killian was with her and panic is suddenly threatening to swallow her whole when she realizes she can’t see or hear him. Granted the cell is dark, almost too dark to see more than a foot in front of her, but she doesn’t allow the thought to offer her any comfort.

Instead she leans forward a bit, dirt and gravel embedding in her palms as she crawls forward and calls Killian’s name, praying for an answer or a sign. She doesn’t hear anything at first, her voice taking on a hysterical tone because for all she knows he’s dead and that thought alone makes bile burn in the back of Emma’s throat.

She continues to reach out blindly, begging and praying (she almost _never_ prays) until her finger tips brush against something familiar on her right side and she recognizes Killian’s shirt, laughs because she’s found him and she can finally breathe.

Emma crawls closer until she’s practically on top of him, a relieved smile threatening to split her face as she tries desperately to wake him. It disappears just as quickly though when she feels a warm stickiness coating her skin and she pulls back, bringing her hand up to her face and nearly gagging when she realizes it’s blood.

“ _oh god, oh god,”_ she mutters, feeling around his chest and abdomen for the source of the bleeding, her fingers finally probing a wound in his side that seems to stretch from the middle of his chest all the way to his left pectoral.

The amount of blood is staggering and sweat beads at Killian’s brow as his breath comes in rattling gasps. Emma strips off her t-shirt, pressing it hard against the wound to staunch the flow and the pressure must be painful because suddenly there’s a sharp intake of breath from Killian and his dark eyes are wide with fear as he blinks up at her in shock.

“Hey,” she whispers, forcing a smile as she looks at him, “you’re gonna be ok. We’re gonna fix this and then we’re gonna get the hell out of here and go home.”

Killian coughs, feeble and halfhearted and he winces against the force of it but he still manages to grin back up at her. That cocky grin that never fails to either piss her off or make her cave. Right now though, it makes her want to cry.

Because she can tell that he knows, can see right through her lie like he’s always been able to. He knows he isn’t going to live long enough to fix this. He’ll bleed out before anyone can even think of finding them and she’ll be alone.

And she must be crying, she thinks, because despite the fact that he’s _dying_ Killian is reaching up, the calloused pad of his thumb coasting across her cheek to wipe away tears she wasn’t aware began to spill. She looks down at him through soaked lashes.

“Come on now love, don’t cry,” he says, and Emma shakes her head, displacing more tears as she does.

Slowly, so slowly she’s not even sure it’s happening, she brings her forehead down until it’s resting against his. The skin is warm and sweats oaked but Emma finds she doesn’t care, just continues to wrap herself around Killian until she’s tucked into his side and the only thing she hears is the ragged sound of his breathing as it begins to slow.

**_V._ **

For the first time in a long time, Emma wakes up screaming.

It’s a guttural sound that burns her throat and has her thrashing against the hands that are touching her in an attempt to soothe. She thinks she can hear her mother’s voice, thick with tears as she whispers in Emma’s ear and sings broken bits of a lullaby that ease the images racing through her mind until she can breathe a little easier. Her lungs feel like they’re on fire but once she’s able to breath in tandem with Snow she finds the sensation eases and she finally allows herself to open her eyes.

She was right when she thought Snow was crying, her eyes red rimmed and swollen as she offers her daughter a smile and a warm hug that Emma melts into almost instantly. Once Emma’s able to stop shaking her mother eases her grip and sits back, perches on the edge of the bed as Emma stares at the ceiling and attempts to piece things together.

She remembers the dungeon and Killian bleeding heavily on the ground, remembers curling up with him and sobbing into his skin because he was dying and nothing she did would save him. Sleep had come soon after that, exhaustion pulling her into the bottomless depths of unconsciousness as she clung to Killian’s hand and prayed that when she woke all would be ok.

After that though, she draws a blank.

She opens her green eyes to look at Snow then, face painted a startling shade of desperation as her mother reads her like an open book. Her dark head nods towards the curtain to their left that’s halfway open and the bed behind it.

“He’s fine,” she tells Emma, “we nearly lost him but he’ll be fine. He just needs some rest. “

Emma feels like she may cry, her stomach heavy and her throat tight as she stares at Killian’s bed and her mind begins to chant _he’s alive_ over and over again.

She looks back to Snow.

“Can I get up?”

Her mother nods. “Yes, you’re fine. Besides being exhausted and dehydrated there was nothing substantially wrong with you.”

She leans over and presses a kiss to Emma’s blonde head before standing to leave, can understand the look in her daughters eyes well enough to know that she wants (needs) a moment of privacy and right now it’s the least Snow can give her.

Once Snow goes Emma carefully crawls out of bed, a bit unsteady on her feet but otherwise alright. Her pulse quickens as she takes the few steps towards Killian’s bed, peering around the curtain to see him still dozing soundly, a thick white bandage around his chest.

He’s got some color back in his cheeks and Emma nearly reaches out to run her thumb across one, desperate to feel him again. She stops though, arm retreating back to her side because she doesn’t want to wake him.

Instead she grabs the chair in the corner of the room, pulls it up beside his bed, and does the only thing that’s left to do.

**_+1._ **

Killian’s embrace is warm and Emma wonders if it’s possible to wake up like this every day.

His arm is wrapped tight around her middle and drawing her close, flush against his bare chest as he snores lightly in her ear and Emma actually has to muffle her laughter in her pillow. She’s spent the last ten minutes watching him in slumber, memorizing the contours of his face and the way his eyes eyelids flicker as he dreams. When she tears her gaze away from his face her eyes flick down to the scar on his chest, the skin puckered and pink as she runs her fingers over it softly.

The sensation is enough to make him stir, eyes blinking open, crinkled at the edges as he stares at her with his mouth pulled into a sleepy half smile.

“Morning.”

Emma snuggles closer against him. “Morning.”

She feels Killian tense against her, unsure of what he should do because for the longest time Emma was so adamant about keeping her distance despite the fact that they both knew how she felt. In her head she told herself last night had been a onetime thing, the relief of him surviving and healing driving her to a point of want that was so strong she couldn’t think to ignore it.

Then he had kissed her, moved across her body in ways that nearly drove her mad and when she looked into his eyes as she came she found she wanted more than just the feeling of him inside of her. She wanted all of him, every part she had told herself she hated or was toxic because she had tried so hard to live apart from him only to find she could bear it no longer.

And now he’s here, in her bed tangled between the sheets as she watches him from her spot tucked beneath his chin, warm and safe and so incredibly _happy._

And that’s when Emma finally looks up at him and says, “I want you to stay.”

And he does.


End file.
